


repentance

by bonebo



Series: domestic AU [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Domestication, dub-con, pet Max
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 01:50:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7147220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Punishments are always his favorite part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	repentance

Punishments are always his favorite part.

The pet whimpers below him, kneeling with its hands tied behind its back, helm bowed submissively; its optics are off and its frame rocks with delightful little quivers, the clattering of its trembling armor a music to Overlord's audials almost as enjoyable as the sight of his pet so humbled. After pausing long enough to simply admire the wonderful results of his long hours of training, Overlord drops into a crouch to gently lift the pet's chin with a finger, smiling as its optics come on darkened with need and desperate. 

_Beautiful._

“What's the matter, dear pet?” he drawls, glancing down as the other mech squirms and whines in distress—the pet's thighs gleam with lubricant, more glimmering in a shallow puddle on the floor beneath its spread legs. The false spike Overlord had magnetized in place nearly an hour ago still whirrs merrily away in the pet's sopping valve, vibrations surely irritating the over-stimulated nodes and mesh. “Is your toy bothering you?”

The pet's reply is a pitiful noise—a high-pitched whine that trails into a moan as it readjusts its stance, thighs spreading wider and knees sliding in its own slick. It nuzzles at Overlord's hand with a keen, glossa darting out to fleetingly lick at his fingers, kiss along his palm; a wordless plea for mercy, in the only way it can, anymore. Such a sight warms Overlord's spark.

“Well, how can I say no to a face like that?” he murmurs fondly, two fingers pushing at the pet's shoulder—the pet obediently rolls onto its back, thighs spreading wide and valve displayed, fully visible.

A trained response, and one Overlord is very proud of.

“Good pet.” He moves to settle himself between the thick thighs, taking a moment to run his hands down them lightly, admiring the power still held in the pretty frame; power that's all his to control, now. He stops once his thumbs brush the little ring pierced through the pet's anterior node—smiles at the soft little warble the motion pulls from the pet, at those wary optics, and gives the wet valve an affectionate rub with his fingertips. “What, are you nervous? Don't you trust me, dear pet?”

Overlord pauses, and then his smile turns wicked. “Or did you just now remember that this is a _punishment?_ ” 

His hand comes down sharply—and the pet yowls as its tender valve is smacked _hard_ , and tries to squirm away, only stopped by Overlord's steel grip around one slick thigh. Three more slaps rain down on the delicate mesh—Overlord makes sure to catch the node ring with his fingers on every up-stroke, delighting in his pet's agonized, breathy squeals—before he stops and simply watches, smiling at his pet's little hiccuping gasps, the twitches of its frame, fitful attempts to manage the pain it's in.

“Maybe you forgot that this was a punishment, my beast,” he says pleasantly, grabbing the thick base of the false spike and ripping it free of the valve in one smooth tug, delighting in the cry his pet makes, “but I did not. Only naughty pets try to get out of their punishments, and you're not a naughty pet.” 

Overlord viciously shoves the toy back in, and starts to piston it into the wet valve mercilessly. He puts most of his strength behind each thrust of the toy, smile only growing wider at the desperate noises he pulls from the pet's vocalizer, the way the mighty frame thrashes and the bucks of blue hips. “ _Are_ you?”

The pet shakes its helm frantically, writhing in pleasure-laced pain, overbright optics brimming with coolant—but the noises it makes, those eloquent pleas and begs reduced to mindless keens and whimpers by the domestication, are what really gets Overlord's engine revving.

“Keep making noise,” he hisses, tearing the toy out and tossing it aside in his haste to release his own straining spike; it springs into his waiting hands as soon as the panel is moved, thick and hot at the sight of his pet so thoroughly debased in front of him. He butts the fat head of it against his pet's valve opening, teasing himself with the promise of that warm slickness and drawing another low whine from the pet. “Yes, good. Keep going.”

The pet—willingly or not—obeys as ordered, keening and whimpering as Overlord shallowly fucks into the opening of its valve, the supple hole stretching around the widest part of the spike's head before it's pulled away again, over and over. Overlord strokes himself feverishly as he ruts against the hole, optics burning bright as he watches his pet writhe and struggle beneath him, powerful frame reduced to this quivering, keening waste.

His hand reaches down, fingers slipping in slick until they find the tiny node ring; he gives it a vicious twist, and it's with the pet's scream in his audials that he overloads. His spike pulses transfluid over the fluttering valve, over the powerful chassis, over his pet's coolant-streaked face—Overlord groans lowly in pleasure, but then can't help but laugh at his pet's poor, displaced face, the way it squirms and tries to rub the transfluid off its optics, its mouth set in a sulky pout.

Overlord leans back, vents huffing softly, and chuckles as he runs his fingers through the mess coating his pet's face; he taps them against the pet's lips once in warning before they invade its mouth, dragging along its glossa, forcing the pet to taste his spill. 

He feels, just barely, the brush of a canine along the top of his finger—his optics meet his pet's and burn, just _daring_ him to bite. 

_Give me another reason to punish you._

But after a moment, the pet's optics drop first; a soft whine leaves its vocalizer. Its jaws part wider, removing all feeling of dentae, and Overlord smiles as he pulls his fingers free and stands. 

“Good pet,” he purrs, tucking his spike away. “You made me very happy.” 

And it's true—watching his pet be humble and submissive always satisfies him, makes him proud of his training. The pet actively not biting him, though, deferring to what it knew its master wanted; that had been a bonus. 

It still doesn't stop him from walking away, and leaving the pet to lie in their combined mess until Overlord deems it has repented enough. 


End file.
